


our bodies were printed as blank pages

by liionne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Skinny!Steve, Tags might change, keep an eye on them!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3596145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you like it?" he asks instead.<br/>"Yeah." Steve nods. "Yeah, I really do. I mean, I get to tattoo gorgeous guys like yourself all the time - what's not to love?"</p><p>And fuck, shit, that's flirting, and Bucky's blushing, but he just doesn't know if he can flirt back because his mouth has stopped working, why has it done that? Bucky vaguely remembers a time when he was smooth- he could have flirted back effortlessly. But now he just stammers, turning bright red, and flushing even harder when Steve looks up and sees him, giving him a cheeky grin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Any mistakes are all mine, and please feel free to point them out!  
> Title is from the quote "Our bodies were printed as blank pages to be filled with the ink of our hearts" By Michael Biondi

Bucky meets him on his second day back from the army rehab place. He thinks if he had to spend another day in there he might actually fucking scream, so its a good job the doctors there decide that the motor function in his arm is good enough to earn him a one way ticket out of there. The arm is Stark Tech; Bucky presumes that the millionaire in question is trying to one up the other rich guys who are off saving babies in Africa by giving arms and legs and funding to broken veterans. Smooth move. But it’s metal, and it’s heavy, and it hurts his shoulder. Sure, it hooks up really easily to his brain and his spine, so it’s super easy to use, but it hurts. The doctor says he just needs to adjust, but Bucky, of course, doesn’t give a shit.

So he just doesn’t wear the arm.

He goes down to the tattoo place on Monroe Avenue with one arm missing and the other hidden beneath a dark blue jacket, and he looks at the shop front.

Captain America Tattoos.

Kind of weird, but Bucky goes in regardless.

The girl behind the counter is just shorter than him, even in her tall red heels (which match her lipstick, apparently). She’s wearing a sleeveless blouse to show of the actual sleeve she has inked over her right arm, a hundred different images linking to form one solid mass of colour, beautiful and intricate even from a distance, and her dark hair is curled over her shoulders in a style that’s reminiscent of the forties. From the doorway, Bucky can see the little diamond nose ring she’s wearing glinting in the bright lights of the parlour.

She looks up as he enters, and when she speaks, it’s with a clipped British accent. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to get a tattoo.” Fucking helpful, he thinks. State the obvious. “Heard about this place on recommendation and was wondering if you could fit me in?”

“What’re you looking to get?” She asks, looking down at the diary in front of her and then back up to him.

“Just the details from my dog tags.” He pulls them out from under his shirt, twisting one to show her. “Nothing much.”

“Steve can do that.” She says, smiling like it’s an inside joke, but when she looks at Bucky it’s sweet and that calms his nerves. She looks down at the diary again. “He can do that right now, actually, if you want to wait a few minutes.”

Bucky gives a nod, pays for the tattoo, and takes a seat on one of the big brown leather couches. For the first time since entering, he gets a proper look at the place; whilst the walls where he sits, in the reception area, are covered in framed sketches and photographs of tattoos, the other ones aren’t. Each wall has a mural painted on it; one is simply the view from Brooklyn Bridge, tall buildings a mass of grey set against a pale blue sky. The other is what seems to be a protest, hundreds of angry faces set against a dark grey-ish purple sky, a sign being held up saying “Imagine Peace”. And the last one, the one right opposite Bucky, is a sea of faces. A mixture of races, hair colours, styles, genders. Some holding hands, some standing alone, but each one with a raised fist.

It’s all pretty damn overwhelming.

But before Bucky can ask the girl behind the counter what all of it is, there’s the clipping of heels on the tiled floor,  and voices, and Bucky looks up to see maybe the most gorgeous guy he’s ever seen.

He’s a complete twink, that much is certain. He can’t be more than five foot five, blonde hair shaved on one side and longer on the top, a mass of fluff that Bucky wants to run his hands through. He’s wearing a loose button up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to hint at the sleeves he has underneath, tattoos that spiral up from his wrists under disappear beneath the grey cotton. His boots are clumpy, military style left unopened, laces hanging around messily as he walks a client to the door. The client being a girl with hair a shade lighter than the one behind the counter and a dress that reveals a little bit of wrap at her thigh, suggesting just where she got that tattoo.

She winks at Bucky on her way out, after a short chat with whoever that guy is - must be Steve, he must be, Bucky sure hopes so - about aftercare, but he’s too busy looking at Steve.

“Booked you in a one o’clock, Steve,” The lady behind the counter says, and Bucky thanks whatever deity’s up there for that tiny twink of a tattoo artist being Steve. She nods behind her, brown curls bouncing, and Steve turns his way.

He smiles, and Bucky swears the world stops.

“What’re you looking to get?”

Bucky goes to speak, but he doesn’t actually make any sound. Steve looks at him, and then he smirks a little bit, as if he _knows_ what’s going on. Bucky clicks his jaw shut, and tries again. He shows Steve his dog tags. “I just want the information from here on my arm.” He nods, handing the Steve the tag before his head tilts.

“You want to go through to the private room or are you happy to get it done out here?” Steve asks, peering down at the book for a moment before looking back up. “It’s free for the rest of the day, so y’know.”

Bucky nods. He doesn’t know why, he’s got no reason to, but he nods. Steve loads him through with a hand on the small of his back and Bucky thinks the private room was a good idea.

“Can you roll your sleeves up, or are you just gonna have to take it off?” Steve asks, eyeing his shirt; the sleeves go down to his wrists, a subconscious attempt to hide the metal arm, even when it's not _there_. They won’t roll up; they get stuck around his elbow, and so he has to pull his shirt over his head, and set it down on the table just inside the door. He feels kind of self conscious, wondering what Steve will say about the arm (or lack of) until he finds the tiny tattoo artist raking his eyes over his chest, and his abdomen, muscle hard and well toned from years in the military, a blush covering well defined cheekbones as he looks away to complete whatever he was sketching, the chain of Bucky’s tags tangled in slender fingers. Bucky wants to snatch them back - they’re something of a security blanket to him - but he doesn’t.

Steve presents him with three sketches. Two with the information in two different fonts, and one like an actual copy of his dog tags. Bucky picks the middle one. He just wants the information, really, not the dog tag. He doesn’t know why he’s so bothered about that, but he is. In all honesty, Bucky doesn’t know why he does a lot of things anymore.  
Once the transfer has been put onto his right bicep and Steve has settled into place, Bucky allows his mind to wander. It hurts, sure, but nothing like having your arm torn off.  
“So you’re a military man, huh?” Steve asks, looking over at him and smiling.

Bucky nods. “Yeah.” He says. “Well. I was.”

“What stopped you?” Steve asks. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Had my arm blown off by an I.E.D.” Bucky answers honestly. No point beating around the bush, he supposes. He's not wearing the arm, the prosthetic, but which one is more noticeable? The big hunk of metal, or the lack of flesh and bone? Probably a bout fifty/fifty, so there's really no point in lying. “They said I could get back into service with the prosthetic, but-”

“But you wanted out.” Steve finishes, and Bucky gives a nod.

“Yeah.” He murmurs. “Not really as enthusiastic as before.”

“Understandable.” Steve murmurs, as he tilts his head, holding Bucky’s arm in place.

There’s silence for a moment, and Bucky can’t stand the silence, not after a conversation like that. He can’t think of anything else to say, though. His brain helpfully and gleefully puts in that he should ask if Steve’s single. Bucky stamps that thought down. Stupid brain.

“How long’ve you been doing this?” He asks instead, head tilting.

Steve hums softly, as if he's thinking about it. Silence for a second longer, and then, "Eight years, or there about. I started when I was eighteen. Too poor for college, so I did this instead."

Bucky feels like there might be something else about the college thing. Bucky knows what it's like to not be able to go to college but Steve's voice is a little heavy, like there's something beneath his words. Bucky doesn't ask. He doesn't know the guy well enough.

Once Bucky has gotten over his embarrassment, they chat for a while longer, time passing by way faster than Bucky wants it to. He wants to spend all day with Steve, Steve and his funny stories, the story of how his first tattoo looked like he'd done it with both eyes closed and he was so glad it was on pig skin and not on a person, and about the woman who had passed out on him mid-tattoo and he hadn't known what to do. Steve relaxes him, makes him calm, entertains him, and is pretty to boot. Bucky really likes him, more than he's liked anyone he's met since coming home.

"Alright, you're all done." Steve tells him, leaning back and letting Bucky have a look. It's so neat and simple and exactly what Bucky had in mind. He swallows thickly, and he nods. His dog tags really are like a security blanket to him, and to now have them permanently, well-- it gives him a sense of security he didn't know was possible in this new life of his.

"Yeah." He says. "Yeah, I really like it. Thank you so much."

"I'm glad." Steve says, and Bucky can hear the honesty in his voice. He really is glad that Bucky likes it; he's smiling at him like making him happy is the only thing he wants, really, and it's make Bucky's stomach flip. He goes through the aftercare with Bucky, gives him a leaflet, wraps the tattoo up, and then leads him out of the shop when he has his shirt back on. Bucky tries not to stare at him. Whether or not he succeeds is a whole other matter.

"Any questions, just come down, or give me a call." He smiles. "I'll see you round, Bucky."

"Yeah," Bucky nods. "See you round."

He hopes. He really, really hopes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bucky has a very big crush on Steve._
> 
> _He tries not to think about it as he walks away._
> 
> _(He fails)_
> 
> In which Bucky gets a second tattoo, and asks a difficult question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, any mistakes are mine, and feel free to point them out to me!

It takes Bucky another two weeks to get his shit together and go back to the tattoo parlour.

In that two weeks, he just hopes that he'll see Steve on the street, or in the grocery store, or maybe in his apartment building, or something. Of course, he doesn't. He doesn't see him on the street, or in the grocery store, or in his apartment building. He doesn't seem him anywhere, especially not in his mind as he wraps a hand around himself at night.

(He feels guilty about that, but he's only human, okay?)

But Bucky has this bug under his skin; he got one tattoo, and it didn't really hurt, so what's the harm in another one? He's got the money, the time; he hasn't gotten himself another job yet but he's getting there, he really is, and he has army back-pay and insurance money and whatever else. He has enough.

So he gets himself down to the tattoo shop, and smiles at Peggy when he sees her again.

"Barnes," She says, smiling. He can't remember if he told her his name - did her tell her his name? Maybe she's psychic. "Back so soon?"

"Looking to get another tattoo." He nods, money weighing him down, burning a hole in his back pocket, and the fact that he can't see Steve anywhere clouds his vision a little. "Any way you can fit me in today?"

"Depends what you're looking to get." She answers, and so he produces the photograph. He'd asked Dugan for it; it's on the top of his left bicep, just like Morita's is, and Jones'. Of course, that's not an option for Bucky, so they told him that his chest would do, if he wanted that. He's gone for ribs; he knows that ribs are supposed to hurt like a bitch, but, well--

"That might take two sittings." She says, cutting off his train of thought. He gives a a nod; he had expected that, in all fairness. "So I can fit you in right now, and you could come back tomorrow? You might get antsy sitting for so long."

Bucky nods. "Yeah, yeah, that's good, uh- Who'll be- who'll be tattooing me?" He rubs the back of his neck with a flesh hand; he's wearing the metal one, but he keeps it by his side. He's blushing just for asking. He wishes he was as smooth as he used to be.

Peggy gives a small smile, almost a smirk; she gets it. She's caught him. Shit. "If you want to go in right away, it'll be me, or maybe Maria. You can come back in an hour, and Steve'll be in; he only works half days on a Wednesday."

"How come?" Bucky asks, before it's even come out of his mouth.

Peggy gives him a look, like she's not sure if she should say anything. She looks down, momentarily, and then look back at him, brown eyes soft, surprisingly. "That's kind of up to him to tell you, I'm afraid. But he'll be back, if you do want to see him."

"Yeah." He nods. "Yeah, I'll come back."

Peggy books him in for two hours time, and on the way out, Bucky calls Natasha. Of course, she doesn't even argue when he asks to meet up.

"I'll meet you at the coffee place on fifth." Is all she says, before she hangs up.

Bucky knows the way; he walks there with a frown, wondering why Peggy's face was so soft, and what that meant in connection to Steve. He knows he shouldn't really care; not his place to. He just thinks that Steve is hot. And sweet. And caring. And maybe a little too good for this world.

Bucky has a very big crush on Steve.

He tries not to think about it as he walks away.

(He fails)

~*~

He orders himself an Americano, and a Lemon and Poppy seed Muffin, and sits at their table. Their table, because everyone and their dog knows not to take that table if Bucky Barnes is in the room, and the ones that don't take one look at the clenched fists and the dark circles under his eyes and move their seats a little bit towards the back of the room. Bucky would probably find that offensive, if he didn't enjoy it. He liked having space, most of the time, so people being frightened of him? Perfect.

Natasha slips into the seat opposite him just a minute later; Bucky hasn't touched the coffee yet, tendrils of white steam curling up into the air as he holds the cup in one metal, one flesh hand. Natasha sips a Mocha, and she steals a pinch of his muffin when Bucky pushes the plate a half a millimeter towards her.

"What's eating you, Barnes?" She asks, flicking a red curl over her shoulder, and Bucky deflates.

"I'm ruined." He tells her, and then proceeds to spill the beans on the guy that's been in his thoughts pretty much non-stop since he saw him that first time two weeks ago.  
Natasha nods in all the right places, arches perfectly sculpted eyebrows and hums every so often.

"So ask him out." She says, when Bucky has decidedly finished gushing about Steve and is swallowing down his still too-hot coffee in mouthfuls that burn on the way down. He almost chokes.

"W- what?" He asks, wiping his mouth with a napkin Natasha hands him, seemingly from nowhere.

She rolls her eyes, and sips her drink. "Ask him out, Yasha." She repeats, slowly, like how someone would speak to a child. He would be offended, again, if he weren't so dumbfounded. "Kinda sounds like he likes you too. Least you can do is ask, right?"

"But what if he says no?" Bucky asks, incredulous, to which Natasha gives a knowing smile.

"He's not gonna say no." She says. "And if he does, he's a fool."

Bucky huffs a sigh. He looks at his phone; he has another hour. So he asks her about Clint, that guy from her super-secret job, and she smiles and goes into the details, knowing that for a while, Bucky just needs to be distracted. She's good like that. She knows what he needs.

He thinks about her advice as he walks back over to the parlour.

Honestly, maybe she's right.

~*~

"Bucky! Back so soon, huh?" Steve grins, finishing up a sketch just as Bucky steps inside the door. He looks so excited, pleased just to see _him_ , and it floors Bucky for a second.

He nods dumbly. "I- yeah. Just couldn't keep away, I guess." He says, smiling a little goofily. He just can't believe Steve was that excited to see _him_.

"Don't blame you." Steve answers, but then he's moving round the desk and leading Bucky through to the back. "Peggy showed me the design you want, so I drew it up and put it on a transfer when I got back; feel free to check it over, make sure it's what you want. I gotta ask, though, you sure you want it on your ribs? They hurt like a bitch, so--"

"No, no, I'm sure." Bucky nods, shucking off his shirt and setting it down beside the chair, just as he had done last time. This time, though, he has a metal arm fitted to the stump of his arm that was there before, and he wonders what Steve will make of it. But of course, he should have known that Steve wouldn't even mention it. He glances once more at Bucky's body, like he had done the last time, and Bucky feels himself blush - but then Steve just reaches for the transfer, and shows it to Bucky.

Bucky takes it in, and he beams. He nods. It's exactly what he wanted.

"We'll do the outline today, and colour it next time. Deal?"

"Deal." Bucky agrees, and he lies down on one side to let Steve get started.

~*~

He doesn't ask during that first session, because he knows for sure that he'll be seeing Steve again. He doesn't ask about the Wednesday thing either, because even though Peggy hinted that he should, they don't know each other that well yet. He does, however, ask about the date at the second session. When Steve proclaims a very proud, nearly _smug_ sounding "Ta da!", Bucky knows he has to. He just has to. Steve is too good to be true, and he had been just as excited to see Bucky for the colouring session as he had been for the outline, so he must like him, right?

It's worth a shot.

Bucky marvels at the tattoo, eyes wide. It's a wolf, head thrown back in a howl, coloured in with browns and greens, a single streak of red running through its fur - the symbol of the Howling Commandos, Bucky's unit before he had retired from the army. Not all of them have the tattoo, but he knows it was a good decision to get it. He can actually feels tears pricking at the corner of his eyes; he hopes Steve will think it's just from the pain or something, 'cause his chest is kind of on fire right now.

"Oh my god, Steve, it's so good. It's freaking _amazing_." He marvels, blinking a few times, looking between Steve and the mirror. Steve looks pretty freaking pleased with himself. "Like- holy _shit_."

Steve just chuckles, letting Bucky get a good look in. He then turns, lets Steve wrap it up, slender fingers careful as they wrap the tattoo in the see-through wrap. And then, only when they're halfway out the door, does he stop Steve with a hand on his skinny arm. Steve stops dead, cheeks suddenly flushing, as if Bucky's hand on his arm is burning him or something. Bucky notices, but he doesn't draw back - Steve doesn't ask him to.

"Let me repay you." Bucky says, and Steve gives a small, lopsided smile.

"Well I mean, you already _paid_ for the tattoo," He says. "So--"

Bucky shakes his head, "Drinks. This friday? I know a place."

Steve stares at Bucky like he's grown a second head, and a stone drops in Bucky's stomach, gnawing at him; what if he doesn't really want to? What if Bucky's being mixing up the signals? What if Steve just likes him as a friend? What if he doesn't like him at _all_ , and this is just how Steve behaves with customers? What if--

"I'd love to." Steve nods, directing wide blue eyes up at Bucky, and Bucky swears he almost melts. Steve fumbles for a pen behind the desk, and scrambles to write something down on the back of Bucky's hand: a number. _His_ number. Bucky stares right back at him, and Steve, still blushing, grins.

"Text me the details, okay?" He asks, and he gives Bucky's hand a squeeze as he steps back. "And look after that tattoo!"

Bucky nods, dumbfounded as he walks back towards the door. He manages a goofy smile at Steve, who beams right back at him, before he leaves the shop. He only gets about five feet down the road before he's reaching for his phone, adding Steve's number in, and then calling Natasha.

"Nat! He said yes!" He proclaims as he walks down the street, babbling to her as he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's about to call Natasha, in fact, because he wants to go home. He doesn't want to be here anymore, he wants to retreat--  
> But then a skinny body rounds the corner, and Bucky's heart jumps into his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any mistake - I posted this in a bit of a rush! Feel free to point them out.

Bucky is nervous. He's not sure why he chose a bar, when he hasn't been in a bar in god knows how long and there's a good reason why - crowds. Bucky hates crowds. Crowds conceal people, dangerous people, crowds make things easier to hide and makes moving around easier. And escape is at all difficult in a crowd, especially one as sweaty and hyped and packed together as that of a nightclub.

And of course, the longer he stands there, the longer he thinks that maybe Steve is going to stand him up, even though Bucky was there twenty minutes before they actually agreed to meet. But still, the closer it gets the more he thinks that maybe Steve isn't going to show and that makes his stomach twist and knot, because he doesn't want to be stood up. He likes Steve. He likes Steve a lot.

He's about to call Natasha, in fact, because he wants to go home. He doesn't want to be here anymore, he wants to retreat--

But then a skinny body rounds the corner, and Bucky's heart jumps into his throat.

He's fucking stunning. He's wearing a sleevless shirt, showing off the tattoos that Bucky has never actually seen in their entirety, colours and shapes that move up both of his skinny arms. From this distance, Bucky can just make out the Brooklyn Bridge and the Eiffel Tower, a fingerprint close to his left elbow, loads of different pictures forming one giant, beautiful collage. It makes him a bit breathless, to be honest. But then there's the peak of collarbones from the low neckline of his shirt, and Bucky has to quickly skip past that because all he can think about is nibbling on them and tongue at them and having them dig into his thighs as Steve sucks him off. He directs his gaze lower, at the ripped black skinny jeans, and Bucky just about dies. He's pretty sure he's ascending right now, and it's not even his own fault. It's all Steve's, for being so god damn hot, and _oh shit_ he's wearing the glasses he's still wearing those big hipster glasses someone just shoot Bucky right now--

"Hey." Steve grins, standing in front of him.

Bucky, breathless, smiles back. "Hi." He breathes.

They look at each other for a moment. Steve looks like he's blushing, but Bucky can't be sure. He can't be sure if he really sees Steve give him a long glance, and then proceed to bite his lip, but he thinks that's probably all in is head as well.

"So--" Steve says, and Bucky comes back to his senses. "Shall we go inside."

Bucky nods, and offers his arm to Steve, who actually takes it. Bucky can feel himself grinning as they walk in, let through by Rumlow, the security guard on the door; he owed Bucky a favour, and this seems like a good way of repaying it. Inside the club it's dark and the bass is heavy, reverbrating through Bucky's spine, making his skin tingle. Steve, in the darkness, lets his arm slip from Bucky's only to take his hand instead, leading him to the bar as if it was him who had organised the date. He was just more confidant than Bucky, he thought. Bucky liked that.

At the bar, Steve waved over a bar tender, and ordered himself a jack daniels and coke. Bucky ordered the same. He usually liked his whiskey neat, but this was a gay bar, not Bucky's bedroom at 4am with the lights out and the window open, so he had to at least act like he was having fun.

Bucky doesn't feel particularly comfortable, to be honest. The club was a bad idea. Too many people, the crowds too big, the exits too hidden; his heart his hammering in his chest, and not because he finally got Steve to agree to the date. He's anxious. He finishes his drink, drains it, but it doesn't make him feel any better.

Steve's hand on his arm? That makes him feel a little bit better.

"Are you okay?" He asks. He's closer than he was before. Is he closer than he was before? Definitely closer. "You just seem-- jittery."

Bucky swallows thickly. He doesn't want to say anything. He doesn't want to ruin it.

"Just... I don't know." Bucky says, head shaking. How does he tell Steve that he's still not over this? That there's an ache in his arm, where the rest of it should be, but isn't? Phantom pain making his skin itch, the need to be able to see the exits making his heart race. He's uncomfortable. He doesn't like it.

"How about we get out of here?" Steve asks, and Bucky deflates with relief.

"Yes, please." He nods. "Thank you."

Steve smiles, and leads him out of the club (after paying for their drinks, which is kind of him seeing as this was meant to be _Bucky_ taking _Steve_ out), hailing a taxi when they're on the sidewalk. Steve keeps his hand in Bucky's their fingers entwined. It's a nice feeling.

Bucky doesn't actually ask where they're going as Steve gives an address and the cab speeds away, but he does watch the traffic go by, the streets sort of blurring. The club was a bad idea, and now he's on edge. He hates himself for it, just a little bit. He doesn't recognise where they are, at first, but then he sees the tattoo parlour and he frowns. Steve tugs him out of the cab (he must have paid again, Bucky thinks distantly), and down the street, and into the shop. It's eerie with the lights off, but Steve doesn't stop. He just locks the door behind them, and leads Bucky through the dark, empty shop. It's cold in there, colder than outside he's sure, but he pushes through regardless. Steve leads him through to the back, and up a flight of stairs, and then, finally, he turns the light on.

The light reveals a small apartment, with a kitchenette and a living room, and two doors leading off to a bathroom and bedroom respectively, Bucky assumes. He didn't know Steve lived above the shop, but he supposes he could have guessed, if he were more observant. Steve takes a few steps away and switches on the tv; Bucky is grateful for the background noise, but he does wonder how Steve knows that. He wonders if he's mentioned it before.

"So." Steve says. "This is my place."

It's homey, Bucky notes. The living room is decked out in soft beiges and whites, not what Bucky expected, but then again, he doesn't know what exactly he _was_ expecting. What he does know is the soft material of the couch, which is big and squishy beneath him, and the plump cushions that make him feel so much better. There are photographs everywhere, photographs of Steve and Peggy, photographs of Steve and some guy that Bucky hasn't seen but seems to make Steve laugh in every photo, a few group photos of about six or seven people. Photographs littered everywhere, with Steve's expression just a little bit different in each one. Bucky wants to steal one, keep it, look at Steve's smiling face, but then he sees the real Steve smiling at him, all soft and gentle, and his heart skips a beat.

"You feeling better now?" Steve asks, as he sits down.

Bucky gives a nod. He's scouted out the exits, and there's no crowds. "Yeah."

"You wanna talk about it, or--?" Steve asks again, but Bucky knows he's not pushing him. He's just prompting him. Bucky can say no if he wants to.

And the thing is, he _does_ want to. He really fucking wants to. Because facing up to his problems would only ruin this date even more, and he's ruined it pretty badly so far. But Steve is so gentle, and he really, genuinely cares. Bucky can trust him. He _does_ trust him.

"I don't like crowds." He answers. "Crowds make it harder to find the enemy; too many civilian deaths, and they're too concealed. And I don't like places where I can't see the exit. I like having an- an-"

"Extraction plan?" Steve asks, and though it's not exactly what he was looking for, Bucky nods. It'll do.

"Yeah." Bucky breathes. Something in his chest unfurls, the pressure lightening, and he thinks, yeah. Talking to people might be nice, if this is the feeling of relief he gets after. Steve is still looking at him with that softness to his eyes, but it's not pity. He _cares_. He still likes Bucky. Bucky hasn't put him off.

Steve reaches out and takes Bucky's flesh hand. His fingers are warm, and the pressure is soothing.

"I'm sorry for ruining the date." He mumbles.

"Ruining it?" Steve asks. He shifts closer. "You didn't ruin it-- hell no. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, Bucky. And if that means we do every date here, or in the shop, or at your place, well, that's fine by me. I just really want to date you."

"You--" Bucky's brain falters. "You do?"

"I do." Steve nods. He's smiling as he lets his free hand reach up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing his jaw. "Liked you ever since I saw you, Bucky. You haven't ruined anything; I still like you."

Steve sounds so sincere, and Bucky's heart is racing with it, sucking in a hitching breath. Steve's hand on his cheek is even warmer, even nicer, and he doesn't want to ruin it, but what he does want? He wants to kiss Steve.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, and Steve breaks into a grin.

He nods. "I'd like that."

So Bucky does it. Leans in and kisses him, chaste at first, lips closed, but then he's tugging Steve forward and kissing him harder, like he means it, and Steve is kissing back. His hands slide into Bucky's hair, and Bucky frames Steve's angular face with his own - _even_ the metal one. He almost forgets it's there, when he's got Steve in his lap like this.  
"We don't have to--" Steve is cut off by another kiss, a soft gasp. "We don't have to go all the way tonight."

Bucky huffs softly against his lips.

"Don't have to put out on the first date to impress me."

Bucky gives a slight grin. Steve grins back. Their kisses slow, but don't stop, and Bucky doesn't wonder if that means that Steve doesn't want him, because he adds, "But we can keep making out like teenagers if you want to."

There's a pause, and then Bucky breaks out in a fit of laughter, the first time he's laughed since he's been with Steve tonight. Steve laughs with him, face pressed to Bucky's neck, but then it's right back to kissing and teasing and well--- the date goes better than Bucky planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to send me comments and questions over on [my tumblr](http://achaiion.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes doesn't have good luck.
> 
> But when he looks over to Steve, and meets those light blue eyes, he thinks his luck might have begun to turn. He's falling fast, and he doesn't think he minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter- it gets mildly nsfw. I've updated the tags, so watch out! And apologies for any spelling mistakes.
> 
> And of course, apologies for taking so long with uploading this chapter. School work buried me for a little while, but I fought my way through it!

Bucky wakes up in an unfamiliar apartment, on an unfamiliar couch. He blinks, trying to find his surroundings, trying to place last night in his head. Push the panic down. Date with Steve, got to the club, freaked out, got a cab, came back to Steve's--

Never left Steve's.

Bucky blinks again, and looks around. He sees the photographs on the wall, Steve's smiling face, or a goofy pose. He sees the various sketchbooks littered around the place, some open, some closed. He sees the pile of records by the old fashioned player on a small table at the side, Bing Crosby and Glenn Miller and Ella Fitzgerald heaped up in various precarious stacks. Muted beige colours everywhere, soft in the morning light.

Bucky is still at Steve's place, and that's just fine.

Except for the fact that there's no Steve, which is somewhat distressing. Bucky sits up, half of his hair in his face and the other half sticking up all on one side, a little ridiculous, but he doesn't much care. As he comes to his senses he hears the sizzling of a pan, the sound of soft singing. Steve has a good singing voice, he thinks. He assumes it's Steve singing. Bucky gets up slowly, and pads to the kitchen, hanging around in the doorway. It takes a while for Steve to notice it, but when he does he half turns, and he beams, his grin bright, lighting up the room more than the sunlight that streams into it does. Bucky himself feels lighter, and he smiles back, leaning against the door-frame.

"Morning, sleeping beauty." Steve grins.

Bucky chuckles softly, a hand running through his hair. He winces as he hits knot after knot, but he rakes it through regardless. "Morning."

"I'm making breakfast." Steve continues, gesturing to the stove. "I made bacon, but then I didn't know if you liked bacon, so I'm making pancakes too. Got myself a free morning, so I figured I might as well."

Bucky steps into the kitchen, and snatches a piece of bacon up off the plate they're resting on. "I like both." He answers

Steve's grin only widens, and he nods. "Good answer."

~*~

They sit and eat breakfast together, and it feels like something far more serious than a first date. Or well, maybe a second date. Technically, last night was their first date, even though it had only really been a few hours of kissing and touching and then falling asleep in each other's arms. Which Bucky thinks is supposed to feel like moving too quickly, but-- it doesn't. Making out with Steve like a horny teenager felt about right. Sitting here playing footsie with him under the breakfast table feels about right too. Steve pours syrup over his pancakes and his bacon, and Bucky sips his coffee black, in companionable silence. It feels like they've been best friends forever, like they already know each other, like this is absolutely, positively right. Bucky doesn't know if it really is or not, but he would like to think so.

Honestly, it would make a change for something to go right in his life. He was orphaned by the age of six, and only allowed to see his three year old sister if he threw himself across the gap that separated the boys and girls homes and hoped he caught the windowsil on the other side. He did well in high school, sure, graduated with good grades and everything, but of course, he was too poor for college. Age eighteen, he was thrown out of the orphanage, and though they let him see Becca, it wasn't like they were as close as they once had been. He only got to see her once a week, so they drifted apart fairly quickly. And then, of course, Bucky joined the army. He did a tour, got promoted to sargeant, which seemed like a good thing at the time but only put him under way more pressure. He did another tour, came back, and got his first boyfriend. Again, he thought it was a good thing at the time, but those three months were the fucking worst. Turned out that Brock was abusive as shit, just wanted another punching bag. Bucky was glad to get to his third tour, where he could escape - though then, of course, he had his arm blown off. Which led to months of therapy, mental as well as physical. A metal arm that chaffed when he put it on, but was better than having no arm at all. PTSD. Anxiety issues.

Bucky Barnes doesn't have good luck.

But when he looks over to Steve, and meets those light blue eyes, he thinks his luck might have begun to turn. He's falling fast, and he doesn't think he minds.

"How'd you get a free morning?"

Steve shrugs at Bucky's question. "Guess everyone wanted to sleep late. No appointments for me til this afternoon, and Peggy and Gabe don't work on Saturday mornings."  
"Because they cover your Wednesday mornings." Bucky assumes.

Steve nods. "Exactly."

Silence settles between them, and for Steve it's most likely comfortable, but there's a question that ways down on Bucky's mind, one he has kept hidden for a while.

"Why do you get Wednesday mornings off?"

The silence suddenly becomes awkward as Stve looks up, but drops his gaze again. He doesn't stop eating, but Bucky does, and maybe that makes it worse. Fuck. Bucky knows, he _knew_ , he should have kept that question hidden longer, should have kept it to himself and not asked, or maybe asked Peggy later on, or---

"It's, uh-- It's the day I like to go see my ma. Cemetery's quiet on a Wednesday, better than a Sunday, or a Saturday. I can really get to talk to her." Steve answers, and Bucky feels his food begin to climb back up his throat.

"God," He says, in a hushed whisper. More to himself than to Steve. "I- I'm really sorry I asked, I--"

"No." Steve answers immediately, looking up. His electric blue eyes never waver as they look at Bucky. "No, it's okay to ask. It doesn't--" He shrugs. "I just forget that some people don't know."

Bucky gives a short nod, and looks down at his breakfast. He doesn't feel very hungry anymore. Steve knocks his foot against Bucky's calf, and Bucky looks up through his eyelashes at him.

"I'm not mad or anything." He says. He gives a small smile.

Bucky gives a small smile back.

Breakfast is still a little uncomfortable; Bucky hasn't got any spare clothes, but he doesn't quite care, so long as he gets to brush his teeth and have a shower. Steve does the same, and then he changes into a soft sweater and a pair of black skinny jeans that have Bucky's heart melting. Steve is too cute, too much. A little punk dressed in an over-sized red sweater might just be the death of him.

"I got an idea." Steve grins. He leans up to kiss Bucky, standing on tip toes. Bucky leans down to kiss him, meeting him halfway, and the kissing quickly becomes heated despite the early hour. Bucky hoists Steve up, skinny legs wrapping around his waist, and when they pull apart for air, Steve grins at him almost wickedly.

"Downstairs." He prompts, and Bucky blinks. Downstairs mean people. Downstairs means people who could see them, who _will_ see them, who could laugh at him, or something. Something bad. But Steve seems so sure of himself that it actually sets Bucky at ease too, the tightness in his chest unfurling and softening, and he looks at Steve with big, wide eyes.

And yet, he takes him downstairs, and sits them both down in one of the big chairs. It's comfortable against his back, the right angle to have Steve straddling his hips and still kiss him long and hard. And speaking of which, Bucky is pretty sure that he's half mast in his trousers by now; he's sure he can feel Steve's length against his hip, but he can't be sure.

"Y'know," Steve says, letting one hand sneak between them to press against Bucky's crotch. Bucky moans, eyes fluttering shut. He thrusts up against Steve's hand. He doesn't quite care. "I could get you off right here."

"Right- Right here?" Bucky pants, eyes still shut. He leans into every kiss as Steve works him through his jeans, which are far too thick; he needs Steve's hands on him _now_. Who gives a shit about moving too fast when he wants this so damn much.

Steve leans in, teeth at his jaw, at his earlobe, tugging. His voice is low and thick and it sends shivers right down Bucky's spine, and blood rushing to his cock. He raises one flesh hand to cup the back of his neck, and keep him close so he can kiss him, tongues tangling, breath mingling.

Steve does get him off right there. And after a rest, Bucky sucks him off behind the desk.

And honestly, it's one of the best mornings Bucky has had in a very, very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s tainted Steve. He will taint him. He’ll ruin the good thing they have with his nightmares and his dirty body, his ugly thoughts. He ruins everything he touches. He’ll ruin Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings apply, and apologies for any mistakes!

Things go well for the first couple of weeks. Bucky sees Steve on a Wednesday after he goes to the cemetery, because Steve doesn't really like to be alone after that but he doesn't have a lot of people he can go and see. They get coffee, and talk, and hold hands. They learn about each other. It turns out that Bucky already knows a lot about Steve, but Steve doesn't know a whole lot about Bucky. So of course, Bucky tells him. He starts with the easy stuff, his childhood, where he grew up. Turns out he and Steve didn't live too far away from one another when they were growing up, just far enough to be in different schools.

"If we'd moved, like, a few streets over, we would've been in the same school." Steve grins, and Bucky looks down at their tangled hands as he sips his coffee. Maybe meeting Steve sooner would've meant something. Maybe he wouldn't have went off to the army; he could have stayed home instead. He could have gotten a regular job, or went to community college. He might still have two arms. He could have done something with his life. But of course for that, he and Steve would've had to be friends. Boyfriends, even. But Bucky has a good feeling that if had of met back then, they would have been good friends in any case.

After coffee, they kiss, and they go their separate ways. They see each other again on the weekends, usually for the whole two days, the friday too if Bucky can make it. He hangs around the shop, works with Peggy behind the desk, or chills with Steve in the private room. He thinks about getting a new tattoo, but he's pretty happy. He finds that he actually really likes Peggy. She’s funny, and she’s badass, and she has a hell of a lot of good stories to tell. She makes Bucky grin, reminds him of his Becca – he thinks maybe she’s like Peggy, or would be, if he knew her. They’re about the same age now. Gabe is there sometimes too, Steve’s other tattoo artist, and he’s so warm and friendly that it’s impossible not to like him. Bucky rarely sees him, but he counts him as a friend anyway, because Gabe always treats him like one.

On Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, Bucky camps out at Steve’s place. They don’t go to Bucky’s, but Steve doesn’t ask to, so he figures it’s not a problem. He much prefers being in Steve’s bed, in the soft light of his apartment, where everything is cosy and smells like Steve, and it’s easy to forget about all of the bad things that have happened to him. He’s happy when he’s with Steve, and Steve is happy when he’s with Bucky. It’s a beautiful thing they have.

One Saturday night, he lies with Steve, completely naked and blissed out and tired. He watches him sleep, and he smiles softly. Steve is all kinds of beautiful; he's skinny and angular but it works, he's gorgeous. He's confident in his own skin, and it makes him radiant. He has a scar on his chest from heart surgery when he was just a baby, and another in his abdomen where he had his appendix removed, but they aren’t blemishes, like Bucky’s scars are. They’re signs of survival, of his will to carry on, to persevere. Bucky has kissed both, and he knows that they’re wonderful. _Steve_ is wonderful.

Far too wonderful for Bucky.

It hits him like a freight train. Bucky is very, very broken. There are nightmares behind his eyes whenever he closes them, be it in sleep, or in a day dream. The sound of a door slamming in his apartment building has him hiding behind the couch, limbs shaking and heart racing as he searches for the source of the noise, the IED or the patter of gunfire. The Fourth of July, which he finds out is Steve’s birthday, leaves him curled under his bed with nothing but his Glock for company.

And it’s not like he’s beautiful. Scars are carved deep into his skin, bullets and shrapnel and god only knows what else leaving him riddle with thick pink scars, covering the left side of his body most of all. Steve has kissed nearly every one, but they make Bucky feel sick. They turn his stomach. And of course, he doesn’t even have to go into the stump that is his left arm, red from the prosthetic and covered in scars. His hair is unkempt and messy because he doesn’t like someone standing behind him, where he can’t see them, for the fifteen minutes it would take to get his hair cut – even if he can sit in front of a mirror and watch them through that. Natasha had offered, but he’d declined. Back then it was because he wasn’t bothered, but now it’s because he just feels twitchy. He used to be a man who cared about his appearance, dapper, wore nice clean clothes and had his hair styled every day and never went a day with more than 5 o’clock shadow on his jaw. Now, he’s a mess. He’s ruined the body he once had.

He’s tainted Steve. He _will_ taint him. He’ll ruin the good thing they have with his nightmares and his dirty body, his ugly thoughts. He ruins everything he touches. He’ll ruin Steve.

So he leans down, and presses a shaky kiss to Steve’s cheekbone, purely out of selfishness. He writes a note, and tells Steve that he had a nightmare; he needs some time alone, that’s all. He knows Steve will understand, and give him space, and that makes it even worse. Bucky is a liar, a fraud, and Steve is just too good. He’ll believe Bucky, because he thinks Bucky is good too.

Steve is wrong. He deserves better than Bucky.

So Bucky leaves, and he hangs his head in shame the whole way home.

~*~

He doesn’t sleep. He lies awake, and watches the ceiling. He doesn’t really think, because if he tries to think he thinks of Steve, and then he thinks of how disappointed he’s gonna look when he wakes up, and how worried he’ll be when he reads the note.

Sure enough, an hour after the sun rises, he gets a text.

**[ sms: steve ] hey, buck. Just checking everything’s okay?**

Bucky looks down at the text. He sighs.

**[ sms ] fine xx**

Not a lie, except that it is. Another lie to add to the pile of lies Bucky is slowly but surely going to build up. Because this is what he is: a bad person. A liar, a cheat. He’s tainted, and he’s bad news, and he’s not what Steve needs. Steve deserves someone beautiful, mind, body and soul. Someone who hasn’t got a troubled past and an uncertain future, someone who doesn’t begin to shake if they hear a loud noise, someone who doesn’t see gore and violence every time he closes his eyes. Steve is better than that. He needs someone better than Bucky.

**[ sms: steve ] I’ll see you on Wednesday??**

Bucky feels his heart clench, his stomach roil. His finger hovers over the screen.

**[ sms ] yeah xx**

Another lie. He might as well get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, it's only going to go downhill from here. There'll be a happy ending, but for a while, it's gonna get pretty bad.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You do.” She says. Her voice is hard, not like Peggy’s, a hint of that Russian accent seeping into her tone that only happens when she gets mad. He purses his lips, and finally looks up to meet her gaze, only to find her all but glaring back at him. “That boy is good, Bucky. He’s a good guy. And he was good for you. You were good for each other.”
> 
> “I’m no good for him.” Bucky huffs, his voice just a murmur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for any mistakes!

Steve asks Bucky if they're meeting as usual on Wednesday, for coffee, and Bucky says yes. He's lying, of course. He knows that if he were to see Steve again he would be selfish and give in and would go back to that tattoo parlour with him, when he really, really shouldn't do that. It's not right. Steve does deserve someone better than Bucky, after all, and his selfishness just proves that. So on Wednesday, he feigns an illness. Tells Steve he thinks he's coming down with something, and he doesn't want to infect him. Steve is so tiny and frail and gets ill so easily that it's no surprise when he says that, so Steve, good, kind, sweet Steve, believes it. That excuse lasts right through until near the next Wednesday, of course, because he can't pretend he's still sick if it was just the flu or something.

He has to start coming up with better excuses.

It's not like Bucky doesn't _want_ to see Steve. Hell no, he wants to see Steve more than anything. Bucky has very few good things in his life: he has Natasha, and he has Steve, and he has the friends left over from his time in the military. Other than that, though, he’s a bit short on good things. Natasha does a lot of “top secret” undercover shit for people that are more powerful even than the CIA, apparently, so she can’t be around all the time, and Bucky’s military friends are doing their new tour, shipped out not too long ago. Getting to see either of them is difficult for Bucky, and due to a severe lack of family and anxiety that makes it hard to make other friends, he finds himself alone more often than that. Or rather, he did. Then of course, he met Steve. And by extension of Steve, he met Peggy, who he classes a friend now. Why wouldn’t he? They make jokes together, they laugh together, they talk. They might not be as close as he is with Natasha or Steve, but they get along, and Bucky really does need all the friends he can find.

Apparently, Peggy must think they’re friends too, because she finds it acceptable, two weeks after the last time Bucky saw Steve, to call Bucky.

How she got his number Bucky will never know, because he seriously doubts that Steve would ever have given his personal information away so seriously, and especially for something like this. Something like this being Peggy essentially asking him what the hell is going on.

“Bucky, it’s Peggy.” She says, her voice crystal clear as she speaks, and Bucky freezes as he stands in his bedroom, looking out of the window. He hasn’t actually been outside in a long time. God bless home delivery services, he can just order his groceries online and pick them up from the front door. He squints at the sunlight, and wonders how he should approach that. In the end, he settles for what he hopes is a nonchalant sounding, “Hey, Peggy.”

“Hi.” She answers. “Look, Bucky, I just wanted to ask what’s going on.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He says, picking at the flaking paint that covers the windowsill, the white chipping off to show of the dark wood underneath.

“I think you do.” She argues, but her tone is somewhat soft. Like she’s being gentle with him. Bucky knows he doesn’t deserve that, which makes him feel a tiny bit sick. It’s only going to get worse, of course. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but I know how much you liked Steve I could see it in your eyes, you loved him.”

“Uh huh.” Bucky mutters, non-committal, his eyes on the windowsill still.

“And I don’t think you would just up and dump him like you have. Worse than that; you haven’t even dumped him. You’ve just dropped off the face of the earth.”

“I haven’t.” He answers, his voice low and soft, like he almost doesn’t want to be heard. He looks up, sunlight hurting his eyes a little bit; the shadows under them are getting even darker. He hasn’t slept a hell of a lot in the last few weeks. Nightmares. Sometimes he just doesn’t sleep at all to avoid them entirely.

“That’s what it seems like.” She retorts. “Bucky, Steve really, really likes you. He does. And he’s trying not to show it, but it’s killing him, not having you here. He doesn’t know what he’s done—“

“He hasn’t done anything.” Bucky is quick to respond, to defend the best man he knows. “It’s not his fault.”

“Then what _is_ it?” Peggy asks. “You don’t have to tell me, Bucky, but at least tell Steve. You’re hurting him with every extra day you stay away and it’s killing me to watch it. I thought you were a good man, Barnes. Please don’t prove me wrong.”

Bucky looks down at the phone, and mutters something incoherent, but she’s already hung up. Bucky stares at the phone for a long time after that, and then, finally, he goes back to bed. He doesn’t have anything better to be doing today anyway.

 

~*~

Bucky doesn’t see Steve for another month after that conversation. Peggy doesn’t call again, and neither does Steve. All form of contact stops, and Bucky thinks that’s good. No goodbyes. No explanations. Bucky doesn’t have to go through how toxic he is and that Steve should really just go, leave him behind, because he deserves so much more.

It’s after a month, though, that Bucky gets to see Natasha again. And he knows that something is up because Natasha gets there first; Natasha _never_ gets there first. Natasha always comes after, when their coffees have arrived and Bucky has scared away half the café with a glare and a whir from his metal arm.

But she’s already there, sipping a latte, and she smirks when she takes in Bucky’s almost wary expression.

“Look what I got.” She says, turning her arm to show off her new tattoo: _da_ _svidaniya_ written in cursive, wrapped around her arm. Cursive that Bucky knows well, come to think of it, from looking at it scrawled across the walls every other day. He swallows thickly, and looks down at the dark liquid of his Americano, the foam curling around the top as if it’s just been stirred. She probably sweetened it for him. He sighs, and he doesn’t even attempt to meet her gaze.

“What are you playing at Barnes?” She asks, sipping her coffee. The mug is stained red from her lipstick, but Bucky doesn’t look further than that, looks down at his own coffee instead.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do.” She says. Her voice is hard, not like Peggy’s, a hint of that Russian accent seeping into her tone that only happens when she gets mad. He purses his lips, and finally looks up to meet her gaze, only to find her all but glaring back at him. “That boy is good, Bucky. He’s a good guy. And he was good for you. You were good for each other.”

“I’m no good for him.” Bucky huffs, his voice just a murmur.

Nat sets her coffee down, and arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “So that’s what this is about?”

Silence on Bucky’s end. He’s not saying anything.

“You are a _good_ man, James. You are. You might not think it, but trust me, you _are_. Steve can see that. Steve _likes_ that. He’s cut up, James, and I know that you are too. I know yo u far too well.” She pauses, and she meets Bucky’s gaze steadily, grey eyes meeting green. “You think he doesn’t deserve you, but he does. The two of you are good for each other. You suit each other. None of that bullshit about him being better than you, or any of that, because you’re both good people, James.”

She finishes her coffee, and stands, slinging her purse over her shoulder. She sets a hand on his arm, causing him to look up at her.

“Talk to him, please. If you apologise now, you might just have a chance of him taking you back.”

And then she’s gone, leaving Bucky to chew his bottom lip as she goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left, and Bucky is finally going to confront Steve! I'm already looking at writing a Cinderella AU , but prompts or requests are more than welcome over on [my tumblr](http://achaiion.tumblr.com).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not—I’m not good enough for you. Y’know.” He begins, slowly. “And I realised that, and that’s why I left. I—I didn’t say goodbye or anything because I knew if I tried to, I wouldn’t do it. I’m too selfish. I’d rather have you and drag you down with me.”
> 
> Steve stares at him for a long time. Not saying anything. Just looking.
> 
> “You’re an asshole, Barnes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual apologies for any mistakes.

Bucky goes to the tattoo parlour a few days later. He has a tattoo that he wants, and he wants Steve to do it. It should only take an hour, which is enough time for them to talk, and for Steve to kick him out if he wants to.

Bucky really hopes he doesn’t want to.

He heads down to the parlour looking better than he has in a month. He’s shaved, he’s scraped his hair back into a bun, and he’s wearing freshly cleaned clothes. He’s wearing the metal arm, though he’s still not a massive fan, he thinks it’s better than no arm at all. He doesn’t want Steve to pity him, to take him back because he’s the war hero amputee who’s just a little fucked up, no. He wants Steve to take him back because he wants him. Because he loves him. Still. Even though Bucky has been a massive jerk, more than that, and he doesn’t deserve Steve at all, he’s hoping that maybe Steve will still take him back. Because Natasha was right: Steve really is the best thing that ever happened to him, and he doesn’t want to lose him.

So he heads inside, and is immediately met with Peggy Carter and her dark glare.

“He’s not here.” She says immediately.

“I—I want a tattoo.” Bucky explains, lamely, holding up a sheet of paper with his design on it.

She looks him over, and gives a nod. “I’m free. Come on, we’ll do it now.”

Bucky nods solemnly. He had been hoping to see Steve, of course, but the parlour is empty, and so apparently, Steve’s not here. Unless he has another appointment, but the door to the private room is open, so there musn’t be anyone in it. Bucky feels himself deflate at the realisation that Steve isn’t here. He isn’t going to get to see him. He’s ruined it. And then—

“No. I’ll do it, Peg.”

The voice rings clear through the empty parlour and makes Bucky’s heart beat a little faster and his stomach drop to his toes. He wants to see Steve, but he’s scared. He’s so scared.

“Through to the private room?”

And there he is: his Stevie, in ripped black skinny jeans and a loose white v-neck, a new tattoo curling up from his shoulder and just over his neck. The sides of his head are newly shaved, clean cut, blonde hair curling in a way that says he’s just come out of the shower. Bucky nods mutely, and walks through to the little room, taking a seat. Steve is silent too until the door is closed.

“What are you having done?” He asks.

Bucky hands him the sheet of paper. A swallow, curled in flight, wings back. Steve nods, and puts it onto a transfer.

“Where do you want it?” He asks again. Simple, easy questions.

“On my chest. Here.” He taps his pec, close to his right shoulder, and Steve nods.

He works in silence for a good twenty minutes, Bucky felling uneasy the entire time. He can’t stand it.

“I’m sorry.”

Steve doesn’t look up. He keeps going with the tattoo, needle buzzing against Bucky’s skin. “A month, and that’s all you’ve got?”

Bucky wants to say more. His lips part, and he stammers, looking for more. He has nothing to say. “I—“

“I’m used to people not wanting me.” Steve says. “A lot of people don’t. I’m too skinny, or I’m too reckless, or whatever.” He shakes his head, goes back to the tattoo, head tilting and hair falling into his eyes. “I just—thought you were different. My mistake.”

“No, Steve,” Bucky sighs. “It’s not—It isn’t like that.”

Steve looks up then, finally, meeting Bucky’s gaze steadily. The needle continues to buzz, held in the air, away from Bucky’s skin.

“So what _is_ it like, Bucky?” He asks.

Bucky swallows around a lump in his throat.

“I’m not—I’m not good enough for you. Y’know.” He begins, slowly. “And I realised that, and that’s why I left. I—I didn’t say goodbye or anything because I knew if I tried to, I wouldn’t do it. I’m too selfish. I’d rather have you and drag you down with me.”

Steve watches him with wide blue eyes, scanning Bucky’s features. Bucky continues:

“And I just… you’re so good, Steve. Like the best thing to ever happen to me. You’re smart, and talented, and beautiful. You’re too good for me, and I didn’t want to, like…” He pauses, and sighs. He shrugs. “Ruin you, I guess.”

Steve stares at him for a long time. Not saying anything. Just looking.

“You’re an asshole, Barnes.” He says eventually, reaching out to punch Bucky lightly in the arm. Bucky still winces. He wasn’t expecting that, not even in the slightest. “Why didn’t you just say that to me? To my face? I would’ve told you that you’re dead wrong.”

Steve goes back to the tattoo, filling in the stencil on Bucky’s pale skin. “You’re a good guy and you know it. You’ve got issues, but who hasn’t? I like you. A lot. And that makes you good for me.”

He looks up again, meeting Bucky’s gaze. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Bucky sits in silence for a minute or two. He doesn’t know what to make of that, in all fairness. He shifts a little in his seat, metal fingers twitching, playing with a loose thread in his jeans.

“I just didn’t want to ruin you.” He murmurs.

Steve’s blue eyes find his. “I understand that. I do.”

Bucky nods. Steve understands; he’s sincere. Bucky can hear it in his voice that he gets it, that Bucky wasn’t just being f=dumb, he really did think he was no good. Steve gets it, and it makes Bucky happy that he does.

“Does that make us… good?” He asks, after a pause.

“No.” Steve answers, looking up and meeting Bucky’s eyes again, before looking away. “You still dumped me out of the blue for a month, and you didn’t trust me enough to tell me how you felt, or whatever. You hurt me. And you hurt yourself. We can’t go back to how things were before.”

He huffs out a sigh, and Bucky chews his lip. This is what he had been expecting. Steve is going to dump him for real, to his face, and it’ll be just what Bucky deserves.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m against trying again. This time, we just have to take it slow.” Steve says. “Learn to build up trust, get to know each other better. Go on dates that don’t end up in us crashing at each other’s places – at least, not until later on.”

Bucky deflates in a gust. He thought he had lost Steve, but he hadn’t; Steve is giving him a second chance. A second chance at happiness. It’s too good to miss.

“Thank you so much.” He murmurs. Steve just gives a small smile as he turns away, grabs a new pot of ink.

“It’s my fault; I like you too much. Otherwise, I don’t think we’d even be having this conversation.” He says. “I mean it, though. We need rules. We need to stop ourselves from getting hurt again, ‘cause I don’t think I can take that again. I have a weak heart.”

Bucky knows it’s a joke, but it still makes his heart hammer in his chest. “Anything.” He promises.

One last, long, lingering look, and then Steve turns away. Goes back to his job.

“This Friday, the Stork Club, 5pm. It’s a quiet bar, it’s good for a first date. Peggy took her girl there and they’ve been together for a year and a half now.” Steve says, almost idly, but when he meets James’ gaze it’s intense. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Bucky murmurs. A pause, and then he grins. He has a second chance with Steve. A second chance to be happy, to have a life worth living. To feel good every day. “I’m looking forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first things first: [itsybitsywidow](http://itsybitsywidow.tumblr.com) did this wonderful little image to show me what Cyrillic cursive would look like:
> 
> Obviously, Nat only got the top band done around her bicep in the fic, but anyway - I love all of it.
> 
> And secondly: there's a tiny bonus epilogue to follow because I needed a little bit of fluff, to be honest.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s amazing how much has changed, in a year. Dated Steve, moved in with him, gotten to this point. Wrapped around each other in bed, snuggling close. Of course there have been arguments and fights and disagreements, a series of ups and downs, but then he doesn’t care. They always worked through it. The arguments are probably even healthy. All that matters is that they’re still together. They’re still a couple. Every time, they made it.

Bucky wakes up to the sound of birds outside of his window. He twists and turns, smacking his lips and yawning as he tries to get comfortable again. He hates waking up before his alarm – his part time job at the bakery often includes early mornings, which would be good if he didn’t hate waking up early. Despite all that military training, he fell out of the habit of rising early fairly quickly after discharge.

Now, he shifts, and he tries to get back to sleep. And then he smacks into another, tinier, body.

“Fuck—“ He mumbles, and Steve bats at him.

“Go to sleep.” He grumbles at him, rolling onto his side. Bucky takes that opportunity to tug Steve closer to him, wrapping his single arm around his middle, hand resting over his sternum. He can feel the flitter of his heart in his ribcage. It’s wonderful.

It’s amazing how much has changed, in a year. Dated Steve, moved in with him, gotten to this point. Wrapped around each other in bed, snuggling close. Of course there have been arguments and fights and disagreements, a series of ups and downs, but then he doesn’t care. They always worked through it. The arguments are probably even healthy. All that matters is that they’re still together. They’re still a couple. Every time, they made it.

“Geroff.” Steve mutters, but he makes no move to actually leave the embrace. If anything he snuggles closer, pressing back against Bucky’s chest.

“You don’t mean that.” Bucky murmurs, kissing the nape of his neck.

Steve gives a sleep sigh. There’s a pause in which Bucky hears nothing but their breathing falling into sync, but then Steve breaks it with a muffled, “No. I don’t.”

And Bucky smiles as he settles down again, his best guy in his arms, and warmth spreading through his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! The little tattoo AU over and done with. Things to look out for, though: Cinderella AU, and grumpy "i don't do mornings" Bucky. 
> 
> Of course, prompts are always welcome! 
> 
> Thanks so much for all your kind words and kudos throughout this - it means a lot to me, honestly.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do send a comment or an ask over on [my tumblr](http://achaiion.tumblr.com) to let me know what you think, and if I should get the other six chapters up!


End file.
